


A Weed Among Roses

by LadyArinn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angry Sex, Bachelor AU, Biting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Getting Back Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Post-Break Up, Top Peter Hale, assholes in love, derek/stiles but just barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArinn/pseuds/LadyArinn
Summary: Stiles had applied for The Bachelor as a joke so he did not expect to get chosen, he did not expect to make it to the final three, and he certainly did not expect for the bachelor's uncle to be his ex who he'd actually joined the show to get over.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 31
Kudos: 465





	A Weed Among Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing something completely different so of course I had to finish this little WIP. 
> 
> My roommate and I have gotten sucked into the bachelor nation, so of course I'm going to write a fan fiction about it.

If you would have asked Stiles a few months ago when he was applying to be a contestant on the next season of _The Bachelor,_ drunk off his ass and laughing uncontrollably, where he thought he’d get in the show his answer would have been: no where. Color him surprised, he’s in the final two and one of the people vying to get a ring from this year’s bachelor Derek Hale. 

He’d been going through the show partially because the whole experience was a laugh, and partially because Derek was pretty fucking hot. Sure, he was a bit boring, but he had a great body and smile and Stiles was pretty sure the guy was hiding stuff from the cameras. Every now and then something snarky or assholish came out, but it was quickly hidden by a camera-ready smile.

Sometimes, Stiles would glance over and the guy would look like he was dreading being there, and he wasn’t quite certain why the man would be there if he didn’t want to be dealing with all of the people and dates involved. It didn’t make sense and was honestly a bit suspicious.

Stiles had always liked a mystery, though, and maybe that was why he’d stuck around as long as he had.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he would do if he was the one Derek chose in the end. Laugh? He didn’t believe in the show's ability to actually help him fall in love, but he would bet that Derek would be fun for at least a couple of months before his broody attitude and monosyllabic nature would become too grating without the producers feeding him lines and reminding him to smile. 

And sure, the fantasy suite night had gone well, though _‘well’_ was really the best spin Stiles could put on it. Pretty… Quiet. Not much talking, not much _umph_ , just some sex and then sleep. Not bad sex, and definitely not the worst he had ever had, but it had felt kind of standard and a bit like the sex he figured old married couples would have. 

But he’s sure that with a careful hand Derek would eventually be able to deliver on the impact his body looked like it could deliver. The question was if he wanted to deal with all that needed effort.

Though he didn’t have much time to focus on all of that, not with having to travel around with a small army of producers following his every step, cameras in his face as they asked him to comment on Derek, to talk about how nice Derek was, how funny and/or charming he found the man. They may have well just asked him to complement a board of wood, but luckily that meant that Stiles could just say whatever he wanted and as long as he didn’t mention anything about a _personality_ he would be able to scrape by. 

Even with that leeway, though, the majority of his answers were sarcastic or insincere, so Stiles had no idea how they were going to edit around _that_.

He was once again packed into the back of a car, dead eye of the camera watching him as they pulled up to the hotel where Derek’s family was staying, waiting for him to arrive so that they could meet. He had to hope that this would go better than the meeting of Derek and his dad, but by this point in the process he didn’t really have much faith.

The car rolls to a stop and there is Derek, face blank and looking bored more than anything, and Stiles takes a breath and steps out with a slapped on smile to meet him. 

“Hey,” Derek greeted somewhat stiffly, coming over to kiss Stiles on the cheek as a producer practically fist pumped in the background, probably ecstatic that Derek was following their instructions. “I… Apologize for my family upfront.”

He was holding himself so stiffly, jaw clenched and eyes not meeting Stiles’. Stiles wondered if he were to remind the man that he’d had his dick up his ass a few nights before, if it would make him relax.

While the thought was hilarious enough to motivate Stiles to flash a genuine smile at the man, the thought of having to film this conversation all over again because of it keeps him from actually voicing the thought.

“No problem, I’m excited to meet them.” He wasn’t. “Families usually love me.” They didn’t.

Derek nodded, his face similar to that of a man informed that he had only a few months to live.

“Let’s get to it, then!” Stiles exclaimed with false cheer, hands going to his hips and wishing he would have worn his comfortable jeans instead of one of the pairs Lydia had forced him to buy once she’d learned he was going to be cast on the show. They pinched his waist too much.

Derek nodded once and turned to escort him inside, the cameras still filming as the producers came forward to give notes and make requests for future line deliveries.

“Stiles, you’re doing great!” Veronica enthused as she hustled over to him, peering up at him with her huge glasses magnifying her eyes to almost comedic proportions. She was a small, thin slip of a woman, and Stiles often worried that if he moved too quickly it would create a gust of wind that would carry her away. She always wore all black, which made her neon green glasses stand out even more, and each time he saw her there was a different writing utensil poking through the mass of hair piled atop her head.

She intimidated him because he didn’t know where to look or what to do when she got near him, and so she’d been forced to deal with him since she’d had the highest rate of success getting him to do as the show wanted.

“Just a couple of things.” She said with a wide smile that practically took up half her face, and then she was rattling off a huge list of notes, critiques, and reminders.

Tuning her out about a third of the way through, everyone waiting in the hall for the cameramen to set up in the hotel room Derek’s family was waiting in, Stiles looked over to see Derek getting a similar lecture from his own producer, both parties looking extremely annoyed with the conversation. 

Stiles watched Derek a moment, thinking over if this was all really worth it. It had stopped actually being funny or fun about a week or so ago, and the fact that he could hilariously claim that he had “Won” The Bachelor if he made it all the way though got less and less tempting the longer he was around Derek. But he couldn’t exactly just leave and say that he’d never really been that into Derek because then the whole world would think he was a giant asshole. 

Before he could gnaw on these thoughts any longer the room was ready for them to enter, so Stiles just sighed and moved forward, waiting for Derek to open the door—as he had been instructed to do, thank you, Veronica—before stepping through with a big smile.

It had already been explained to him that he would be meeting Derek’s parents, younger sister, and uncle. The uncle felt a little weird, but apparently he and Derek had been super close once upon a time, or something. The sister was easy to identify, looking to be somewhere in her twenties like Stiles, wearing a leather jacket and an almost evilly eager look on her face as she took Stiles in. His parents must be the middle-aged couple sitting together on the couch, an elegant looking woman and an honestly forgettable looking man who looked more like a stock photo than an actual person. 

That left the last person to be his uncle and seeing that face had Stiles tripping over his feet.

Sharp eyes looked gleefully at him, mouth twisted in a vicious sort of smirk, hair styled perfectly and the buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal a teasing peek of chest hair.

Stiles _knew_ that face, and he knew that chest hair.

Derek caught him by the arm before he could face-plant on the floor, the other man offering a gruff and almost accusatory, “He’s clumsy.” To the rest of his family in explanation. Stiles flushed, barely restraining himself from jerking his arm out it’s hold, and bared his teeth at the group in something that a visually impaired person may consider a grin.

“Hi,” He said like he wasn’t planning on bolting from the room the moment he saw a chance of escape, “I’m Stiles.”

“Lovely to meet you,” The older woman smiled like this was all perfectly normal, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “I’m Talia, Derek’s mother.” 

His father Evan, and his sister Cora introduced themselves next, which just left…

“Peter.” The man purred, eyes glinting knowingly, hand shake lingering just a bit too long.

“Yeah. Hey.” Stiles managed through the tightness of his throat, knowing he was now sweating too much but unsure of how much everyone else could tell. 

“Alright, lets get everyone in place for the conversation scene!” Veronica declared, and soon everyone was hustling around as lighting was adjusted and cameras were angled just so, the producers arguing a moment about the seating order on the couch and chairs.

Peter, seizing the moment of confusion, leaned in to Stiles, unnoticed by those around them, and whispered, “Make your excuses to go to the bathroom in a bit.” Before he waltzed over to smile charmingly at one of the producers as he stole the armchair before anyone could really decide who was going to sit where.

 _Still an asshole,_ Stiles thought to himself as he dazedly took his seat, balancing on the edge of hysteria because what were the odds? What were the _fucking_ odds?

“So Stiles,” Talia started once they were commanded to, “What do you do for a living?”

“I, um, I am a private eye.” He managed, hoping he wasn’t staring at the smirking Peter too much. What was the appropriate amount to stare at your TV boyfriend’s uncle? Was there even an appropriate amount?

Stiles ripped his eyes off of Peter like he would rip a piece of duct tape off of his skin, quickly and painfully, still feeling the burn of the other man's existence even after minutes of insipid conversation with the rest of Derek’s family. 

“And why did you join the show?” Evan asked, looking vaguely confused as to why _he_ was even on the show. 

“I wanted to find love.” Stiles repeated the same old line that had been fed to him this whole experience, Though he probably wasn’t super convincing if the faces of the Hales were any indication.

But well, he couldn’t exactly just say that he had gotten drunk and had thought it would be funny, now could he?

Cora opened her mouth, eyes glinting evilly, but was interrupted before she could say anything by the ringing of a phone.

“Really, Peter?” Talia hissed as the producers and sound guys muttered and grumbled in the background. 

“Work. It’s _important,_ sister dearest.” Peter declared smuggly before walking out of the room through the terrace doors to the balmy outside, closing the French doors behind him without another word to anyone else. 

“Let’s keep with the Q&A until he returns. We can just edit around his leaving.” Derek’s producer Alma decided, and Stiles tried to subtly dry his sweat palms off on his pants, distractedly looking over the annoyed collection of Hales around him.

He answered the rest of their questions with only a fraction of his attention, internally convincing himself to stay right where he was. After all, he was a better person than that. What kind of an asshole would he have to be to ditch meeting his kinda-boyfriend’s parents to go off and secretly meet with _Peter Hale?_ While being filmed for national television?

“Sorry,” He said, probably a little too loudly and quickly, standing up in the middle of a _thrilling story_ about how much Derek had always wanted to be loved and had always deserved to be loved and a whole lot of other fluffy, generic bullshit he’d already been fed, “Gotta… Go to the bathroom.” He declared, skittering away before any of the producers or Hales could grab him to stop him.

He slammed the door of the connected bathroom shut, locking it while releasing a heavy, shaky breath, and pressed his forehead to the cold wood of the door as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was even doing. 

Hands came up from behind him without his notice, one covering his mouth to muffle the truly embarrassing squeal he let out, another grabbing his hip in order to possessively pull him back and against the familiar body behind him. 

_“Stiles,”_ Peter purred lowly In his ear, using the exact same voice that had, once upon a time, got Stiles down on his knees with a dick in his mouth within five minutes of meeting, “What a surprise to see you here.”

“If I find out you knew..” Stiles hissed, the threat obviously falling a bit short from the way Peter chuckled evilly and scraped sharp teeth over the side of his throat in a way that made him shiver in anticipation for more, the older man deftly steering him out of the bathroom and into the other room that had been connected the the bathroom. He locked the door behind them once they had been separated that much more from all the craziness in the other bedroom, and for the first time in a while Stiles felt like he could _breathe._

“Oh Stiles,” Peter breathed into his ear, “How could I have _ever_ known that you were leaving me to come here and poorly try to seduce my nephew for television?”

Stiles jerked at that, and then began viciously fighting the hold the other man had on him.

“You utter bastard!” Stiles hissed, “You know that isn’t what happened.” 

“Oh?” Peter asked, venom in his voice as he released the younger man, watching with furious eyes as the equally angry man in front of him whirled around to face him with teeth bared like an animal about to attack. “I wouldn’t presume to tell me what I know.”

“Well then let me tell you what _I_ know, you fucking asshole.” Stiles hissed, trying to keep quiet so that the dozen or so people in the next room wouldn’t be able to hear, “I invited you to meet my fucking _best friend_ because I thought eight months of your dick up my ass on the regular was something akin to a relationship, but you were kind enough to correct that assumption.”

_Really, Stiles, next thing I know you’ll want me to take you out to dinner and meet your father._

“So I said we were done, and decided to find someone better.” He declared, chin up and jaw tight, hiding the fact that what really happened afterward was that he’d gotten angry and sad and drunk off his ass and had wanted someone, anyone, that could make him feel like less of an absolute idiot for developing _feelings_ for Peter.

And so he’d ended up on The Bachelor with a guy with the same last name as the guy he’d been trying to move past, and he hadn’t thought they were related because he’d instead just thought that the world fucking hated him and was taunting him like a bitch.

Peter’s hand whipped out almost faster than he could see, grabbing him tightly by the back of his neck in a possessive hold that, when combined with the heated light of the other man’s eyes, threatened to make Stiles’ knees shake. 

“So you wanted more, hmm?” He purred, leaning in so close that Stiles’ stomach swooped in anticipation, “Because I could have sworn you made the claim that you’d be—and I do believe I’m recalling this word for word— _‘Rather caught fucking a gorilla,’_ than going out to dinner with me.” 

“Don’t use my words against me!” Stiles hissed back, flushing because that argument had certainly not been one of his best moments, “And that was more about going to the theater with you! Plays are fucking boring and the only people who don’t think so are pretentious assholes.”

“The point is, you said no to dating and then you expected me to say yes to every little whim of yours.”

“I said no to a date. _One!_ And more than that, I said no to fucking _Midsummer Night_. You take me to fucking McDonald’s and I’m there.”

Peter recoiled at this, opening his mouth to say something else before he paused, considering the man in front of him. Then that familiar smirk was back in place.

“We’ll continue this in a moment.” He declared, grabbing Stiles’ bicep and beginning to steer him to the room’s door. “But first we need to get to where we won’t be interrupted once they start looking for you.”

“The producers are in the hallway!” Stilles hissed, panicked at getting caught and forced back into the other room with Derek and the rest of his family. But when Peter pulled him out in the hallway and immediately steered him around the corner, there was no one there. 

“Someone issued a complaint about how they were clogging up the hallway and the noise, so I guess they decided to finally get out of the way.” Peter said, oh so innocent as he drags Stiles to a room down the hall and opens it with a key card he took from his pocket.

“You planned this!” Stiles declared as he stomped into the room, angrily noting that this room was much nicer than the one he had to share with the other contestants. 

“I just knew where this was going to end.” Peter stated, looking like an absolute asshole with his facial hair trimmed to the length Stiles knew from experience would burn just right on his thighs, hair carefully sculpted in a way Stiles wanted to ruin, and face stuck in a permanent douchey look that Stiles always felt torn between punching and making out with until he couldn’t breathe.

How dare he look like that? How dare he remind Stiles of things he’d gone on to _national television_ to forget?

With a hiss Stiles leapt, fishing his hands into that picture perfect hair and smashing their mouths together in the most violent kiss of either of their lives. Peter’s hands dug bruises into his hips as he was steered backwards, and Peter’s teeth dug just a little too hard into the soft flesh of his lip as Stiles pulled harshly at the now messy hair in his fists, the taste of blood blooming between them as they both growled.

Stiles was shoved unceremoniously onto the bed, bouncing slightly as he stared up at Peter, the man’s mouth red and already a little raw looking, hair a disaster and eyes so hot and knowing that Stiles was instantly fully hard in his pants.

“Fuck you,” Stiles spit out as he tore his shirt off, kicking off his shoes and socks, while glaring at the looming man, “Come here.”

“So demanding,” Peter tisked, pulling his own shirt of before crawling over Stiles, knees bracketing the younger man’s hips as he leaned down to scrape his teeth down the pale column of Stiles’ throat, “One would think you weren’t about to learn a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?” Stiles gasped out, trying to sound more irritated than needy, though he wasn’t certain how successful he was with that. He arched into the body above him, wanting _more_ so badly he was nearly choking on the feeling, grunting in frustration as he yanked uselessly at the other man’s pants since with his position they just were not going to come off. 

“That if you want something,” Peter almost crooned, one hand combing through Stiles’ hair before grabbing a fistful and _yanking_ so that Stiles gasped and rolled his hips up, whining a bit at the lack of friction he was able to achieve the way they were positioned. “You are going to ask me for it or take it instead of running off to fuck my _nephew_.” He hissed, voice mean though his hand pressing into Stiles’ chest, resting just above where his heart was, was familiar and grounding and a type of kindness that Stiles had missed.

“Fine then! You’re going to meet my father.” Stiles declared, heart beating a quicker tempo as his nerves quaked, though he glared up at Peter like he was unaffected.

Peter grinned, a thing that was as quick and as sharp as a knife, and Stiles breathed out shakily, finally melting back into the bed. 

“And we’ll do a fucking normal date like dinner or a movie or something.” He muttered, hands going down that perfectly sculpted chest possessively, nails scraping red lines across his skin, “And if we go to see some stupid play its not going to be Shakespeare or anything like that, got it?”

That dagger edged grin flashed again before Peter swooped down and caught him in a kiss that was just as punishing as before, finally shifting his weight back to give Stiles something to arch up into and get some much appreciated friction.

Pants are torn off and thrown away with no regard for where they land, and then Peter was opening the bottle of lube he probably bribed a hotel employee to buy, slicking up his fingers to begin teasing around Stiles’ hole.

Stiles couldn’t help his keen at the feeling of one knowledgeable finger breaching him, perfectly timed to Peter biting harshly at his throat and sucking in a way that basically made Stiles’ brains melt out of his head. 

“Tell me, Stiles,” Peter growled, another finger joining the first almost too quickly, teeth gnawing at one of the half-dozen marks he had already left on the other man’s throat, “Did Derek satisfy you like this? Poor, timid little Derek? Did he hold you down right?” He asked, his free hand going up to squeeze lightly at Stiles’ throat as he leaned back to better see the younger man’s expression, to see how desperate he was. 

“Stop… Stop talking about me having sex with your nephew when you’re about to ride my ass.” Stiles managed to gasp out, “It’s fucking weird.”

Peter chuckled, looking about as evil as he ever had as yet another finger was added to the stretch, Stiles barely having a moment to revel in the burn of the stretch before Peter was crooking his fingers and he was seeing stars.

“But did any of the people you went to since you ran from me get you anywhere even close to this point?” He asked, taunting. Stiles bit back a whine and quickly shook his head as he rolled his hips, trying to get those fingers to press in _just right_ again.

“I’m just using my fingers.” Peter hummed smuggly, curling them again and pressing in until Stiles _keened_. “And you couldn’t manage to find someone to get you this desperate using the whole rest of their body, could you?”

Stiles wanted to scream and spit and kick the man away from him, but more than that he wanted to sink into it, into how good it all felt and how well Peter knew him, knew his body. Almost a year of nothing but sex with someone could familiarize you to almost all of a person’s buttons, he supposed. Half a year more away from it could make him forget how good it could be. How good it was supposed to be.

“Sucked,” He finally grunted out, “All of them.”

Peter flashed his teeth in an expression that was more akin to a predator winning a fight as opposed to a smile, and within a few short moments Peter’s fingers were replaced with his dick. 

Stiles cursed, wrapping his legs tightly around Peter’s hips, nails raking harshly down his back as Peter began pounding into him so hard the bed creaked ominously beneath them. Their mouths clashed again, angry and harsh and burning so good after so long. 

It had always been good, though in that particular moment Stiles couldn’t remember it had always been _this_ good. But this was just like how it had been those last couple months, everything so synced up, both of them giving the other exactly what they needed, looking into Peter’s eyes and seeing someone who saw him as he really was and thinking… _Yeah. Okay._

Stiles comes like it had been punched out of him, choking on his own spit and arching into Peter’s harsh hold, and when Peter comes he kisses Stiles like he’s trying to eat him whole and Stiles never wants it to end.

They collapse into each other in the aftermath, panting, Stiles draped over Peter’s chest like his bones had been pulled out of his body, both of them sweaty and covered in come and Stiles knew they were going to get all gross and stuck together in a moment but he didn’t care.

“As nice as Mexico is,” Peter finally said after a few minutes, fingers now running though Stiles’ hair in a way that is soothing, “How do you feel about going somewhere else?” 

Stiles sighed, idly tracing his fingers through Peter’s chest hair and wondering if he could petition someone to formally include ass-breaking sex into the list of ways to find inner peace or enlightenment or something.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Tokyo.” Stiles murmured, looking up at Peter with heavy eyes and a blissed out expression. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments, and Stiles could see exactly what was going to happen. It was going to be messy and hectic and he was pretty sure everyone that was going to watch The Bachelor was going to hate him, but he’d been so _bored_ these past couple of months it had physically hurt.

Being with Peter had never been boring.

* * *

“Where have you _been?_ We have been looking everywhere for you and it’s only because the desk personnel said they’d been informed of where you were that we didn’t start a manhunt! _”_ Veronica hissed to him the next afternoon when he was being escorted to Derek, the other man waiting with a blank face next to the fenced overlook the hotel had of the beach. It was a picturesque background, perfect for the drama everyone around them was no doubt salivating over. The cameras were already perfectly positioned.

“Thinking.” Stiles blatantly lied, marching right past all of the show’s crew and right up to his waiting TV boyfriend.

He was doing his best not to walk with a limp after a night and morning full of extremely enthusiastic sex, and had used some of the concealer Lydia had forced him to bring to cover up the bruising on his throat. As always, he had to thank every known god for the existence of Lydia Martin in his life.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted brusquely, watching as Derek blinked at him in surprise at the tone and how different he was acting that how he’d been the entire show. Closed off, eyes flat, standing apart. Not bothering to fake a smile. The cameras were rolling and the producers were practically dripping, they were so excited for what was about to happen.

“You ditched meeting my family.” Derek grunted, obviously furious and not hiding his glare. It was the most personality Stiles had seen on him in the short amount of time they’d known one another.

“Most of them,” Stiles allowed, having to fight down a laugh at the way the other man’s forehead scrunched up in confusion at the answer. “Look,” He sighed, figuring being blunt would be best, “I… Don’t think it’s going to work between us.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“Are you… Breaking up with me?” Derek asked flatly, obviously not having expected anything that was happening.

“Yes.” 

“Why?” He asked and god, he must have been a _delight_ for all of his past girlfriends and boyfriends to break up with. Nevermind they were on a show where the point was that he had to break up with nearly two dozen people.

Stiles wondered about hiding it, about lying and trying to get away and hoping it could stay quiet for as long as possible. About hiding out in Tokyo and wherever else Peter wanted to drag him to and pretending like all of this had never happened. He could give Derek some flowery bullshit words and the viewers would gobble it up and he wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash until later.

But that sounded annoying, it was going to get out anyway, and he was just _done_ with the show.

“So you know your uncle, right? Of course you do. Well, so do I.” Seeing Derek’s confused and angry expression, Stiles decided to tack on, “Biblically.” 

The utter horror that washed over the other man’s face was hilarious.

“Yeah…” Stiles cleared his throat and looked away, feeling a bit awkward for a moment because it was extremely obvious that the other man was thinking of their time in the fantasy suite. “Um, a while before I came on the show we’d been seeing each other and then broke up and I didn’t know you guys were related until yesterday and he was there so we went away and we… Talked.” 

Derek stared blankly at him for a few moments before _exploding_.

“Did you sneak off to _fuck_ my _uncle?”_ He practically screamed, and Stiles glared back.

“We talked.” _With our dicks,_ “And we worked through the stuff that we broke up over and decided to give it another go.”

“You fucked my uncle and now you’re _breaking up_ with me?” Derek asked, a volatile mix of angry, betrayed, and perplexed.

“Derek…” Stiles sighed, done. “Yeah. I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a plane to catch.” And with that, Stiles slipped past the stunned crew of the show and went to where Peter was waiting at the car for him.

* * *

_A few months later..._

“This is the worst idea you have ever had in your entire egomaniac life.” Stiles hissed as they waited at the edge of the stage for Chris Harrison to call them up. 

Stiles had not wanted to do the _After the Rose_ show. He’d wanted to crawl into a hole and _die_ in order to get past the drama of it all.

The editing of the episode where he snuck off, fucked Peter, broke up with Derek, and then ran off to Tokyo had not been kind. To be honest, his actions had been pretty shitty, but they hadn’t needed the dramatic voice-over and the hotel’s security footage of the hallway.

But, Peter loved attention and drama and had convinced him through the power of his dick to come back on to this train-wreck of a show.

“And now, to give their side of the story, here are Stiles and Peter!” Chris Harrison announced to the cheers of the live audience, and taking a breath Stiles stepped onto the stage.

They walked up to where the couches had been set up, Derek already sitting there, the rest of the contestants sitting on chairs at the other end of the stage, everyone watching as they approached.

Chris Harrison stood to greet them, beaming as he directed them to sit next to a scowling Derek.

They made a little small talk for a moment, Peter effortlessly managing to charm everyone with his smooth words that no one could seem to see through. Then Chris turned to Stiles.

“So Stiles,” He started, and Stiles had a moment to think that Chris Harrison was astonishingly more charismatic in person than on TV. “You said that you didn’t know that Derek was related to an ex-boyfriend of yours?”

And so they went over it all and Stiles tried his best to be calm and not to sound like an absolute asshole because he had had _enough_ of all the women and girls hating him and sending him death threats on social media.

And, in the case of one vicious twelve year old, in person at the aquarium.

“And how has it been since the end of the show?” Chris asked, and Stiles took a steadying breath, trying to think about how best to navigate to the end of this interview.

“Good…” Stiles started, only for Peter to grin like he was about to dismantle a government and lean forward.

“Oh, we’ve had a _wonderful_ time since Stiles left the show. We went to Tokyo, decided to move in together, I met Stiles’ father and we’ve been enjoying our _honeymoon_ period.” He purred, and Stiles couldn’t quite hide his wince.

He shot a quick look over at Derek, hoping that maybe he hadn’t noticed anything but from the horrified look on Derek’s face he knew it wasn’t likely. Derek, after all, knew the kind of person his uncle was and knew that the emphasis he’d added had meant something.

The previous bachelor sputtered for a few moments before finally exploding.

“Did you fucking run off and get _married?”_ He practically roared. 

“Now Derek,” Peter sighed as if disappointed, though he couldn’t hide the maniacal gleam in his eyes. Stiles buried his face in his hands to hide how badly he wanted to laugh, “Is that any way to talk to your uncles?”


End file.
